Deadly with fashionable intent

Writing

It’s been a while…

Since I’ve stepped down from Mt. Olympus to address the world and it’s inhabitants. I must admit that my self-imposed exile was a thing of legend, fabulous in all measures, aloft and mighty as was the exodus of old; Yet alas, the world’s stage calls for a voice of reason, a virtuous force to light it’s confounding darkness.

Trump isn’t going to save the world, the golden toad himself has failed to drain the swamp o’ neocon, in-fact reinforcing the lining of this putrid beast with the likes of Goldman-Sachs and BIG oil. Meanwhile we contest against boredom with aimless pursuits, slaving away for insufficient wages as our governments wagewar.

This ensemble can be acquired by visiting Epiphany.

“The only wall they ever planned on constructing was a prison for your mind, held together by the blood of Patriots, built from your hopes and aspirations; The very dreams they now bind you with.”

The Gardens of Democracy cry out drunk with the blood of it’s innocent.

Two Hundred and Fifty Five Thousand men and women have lost life and limb in this state of perpetual war. Each hour the “Liberty Bell” sounds as another Veteran commits suicide, to the tune of Twenty suicides within 24 hours on average. This constant state of terror, foreign and domestic, from all directions leaves us feeling helpless to our own plight. This state of dystopia where we are expected to suffer and pay to do so with our very waking hours often working into those hours which are reserved for our most exalted spouses, children and of course the ever illusive slumber.

This blog posting marks the date when I decided to really raise my voice. I might not have much of one now, but with time, dedication and hardening of my efforts, I surely will.

Takuya truly does great work.

“Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,Enwrought with golden and silver light,The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light;I would spread the cloths under your feet:But I, being poor, have only my dreams;I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” – William Butler Yeats